


Mixology

by bzarcher



Series: Overwatch: Fine Dining AU [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, F/F, Fine Dining, Food, Podfic Welcome, Slow Build, other characters to be added - Freeform, tall bi Widowmaker is bi, tiny gay Tracer is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-21 19:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8257129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: Amélie Lacroix has been splitting her time working the bar at Overwatch and catering gigs with Blackwatch since her divorce. She hadn't even considered dating again before a prank after hours went a little too far. But is she really ready to trust someone like that again?





	1. French 75

_**Shake 2 oz of gin, 1 tsp. superfine sugar, and lemon juice over cracked ice.** _

_**Fill a Collins glass halfway with more ice, then strain the shaker into it.** _

_**Top off with champagne and serve.** _

Amélie’s head was pounding so badly when she woke up that she didn’t immediately notice she wasn’t in her own bedroom.

She hissed at the beam of sunlight hitting her face through the slightly opened bedroom curtains that weren’t hers. She tried to roll over – god, what time was it? – but realized after a moment that she could not, because of the person nestled against her side.

_Wait, what?_

She closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to piece together what was going on from the abused synapses of her brain.

They’d had the Overwatch / Blackwatch relaunch party after close last night.

Gabriel had won the “fight” with Jack, and then Jack had gotten down on one knee and stunned the room by proposing.

After Gabriel accepted, the newly engaged couple had left to go home and probably do horribly cute and disgusting things to each other while Ana had volun-told everyone else to help with cleaning up and resetting the restaurant.

After she’d finished cleaning and resetting the bar, most of the restaurant and catering staff who had taken part in the event had ended up at Angela’s house for an afterparty and she’d gone to find Lena to apologize. Jesse’s idea for a little prank to put her off her game as time went down seemed to have _worked_ , but she’d felt a bit awful for playing with the girl like that.

Not that she wasn’t cute, of course, but what she’d done had been cruel, especially since she really didn’t expect to get involved with anyone after the mess that was her divorce.

The suave, charming, dapper man who she’d fallen in love with had turned out to be an insecure, jealous, overly possessive ass, when all was said and done, and she didn’t really trust so easily these days.

She’d found the younger woman on Angela’s back porch nursing a beer, and they’d talked for a little while. She’d accepted the apology, Amélie was fairly sure, and had offered to have another drink? That seemed right.

After that, though…how did she end up here?

Amélie didn’t actually drink much. She enjoyed a good glass of wine with a meal, occasionally a beer, and mixed drinks now and then to test recipes. Even when she drank at Ana’s she’d rarely have more than a cocktail or two. The last time she’d been _drunk_ had been the night Gérard had come into the restaurant after she’d filed the divorce papers, raving with accusations that she’d been cheating on him with _Angela_ , of all people, and had tried to attack her after she’d justifiably slapped him. After finding out that she would _not_ be losing her job, and filing the assault charges with the police who had been called, she’d gone to stay at Gabriel’s place and drowned her shock, rage, and sorrows until passing out.

Come to think of it, her head had felt about the same the morning after that night.

So she’d gotten drunk. How? She remembered having a couple beers. A vague memory of laughing, sitting on one of the patio chairs as Lena attempted to mix her a drink.

“Tracer special,” she’d chirped, “cheers!”

It had been sweet, but had just enough bitterness to make it refreshing rather than cloying. They’d both had a glass of her creation…and then she’d woken up here.

It wasn’t a big bedroom. There were a few posters of bands she didn’t recognize, a small dresser, and an old fashioned analog clock on the wall reading 8:45am. Amélie wasn’t sure when she went to bed, but it had to have been well after three in the morning. No wonder she felt like hell.

There was a soft murmur, drawing her attention back to the other woman in bed.

“Ngh,” Lena Oxton groaned, then levered herself up, eyes still a bit unfocused, and a truly epic case of bedhead sending her tousled brown hair in all directions. She seemed to take stock of everything, then gasped. “Oh, god. Amélie?”

“ _Oui_ ,” her lips quirked, “do…did we…”

“You were…we were both pretty fried,” Lena admitted, “sorry, luv. I think I put too much gin in that cocktail I made up.”

“So how…?” Amélie gestured around, trying to sum it all up.

“I called an Uber to get home. I think I promised Angie I’d take you with because we were both pretty far gone.”

“Mm. And…after that?”

“I…honestly don’t remember much.” Lena blushed, and Amélie’s eyes couldn’t help but draw down to the way her chest colored around the edges of the sports bra she’d worn to bed.

“I remember coming to find you…I wanted to apologize. We…had a few more drinks, didn’t we?”

Lena smiled shyly. “Well, I remember telling you all’s fair in love and war, yeah?”

“Which was this?”

Lena shrugged. “Don’t think we got too far along on either.”

Amélie thought she would feel relieved at that. So why did she also feel a bit disappointed?

“That’s…probably good,” she finally admitted, “I’m…”

“You’re not ready,” Lena said gently, and Amélie nodded, “I was there, remember? It seemed like that bastard did a real number on you.”

“It’s part of why I felt so bad about teasing you,” Amélie admitted, “I…I do _like_ women. I think you’re a very cute girl, _chérie._ But…”

“Hey,” Lena gently put a hand on the older woman’s cheek, “I appreciate the compliment. Really. And you’re drop dead fucking _gorgeous_ , if you hadn’t noticed. But if that’s not what you want right now, it’s not what you want, ok? I like you plenty as a friend, Amélie.”

Amélie gave a careful nod, mindful of her aching head. “Thank you, Lena.”

“Course, luv!”

“…do you have any asprin? My head is killing me.”

“Coming right up.”


	2. Bloody Mary

**_Bloody Mary Mix_ **

**_1 quart Tomato Juice_ **

**_¼ inch of chopped horseradish root_ **

**_½ of an anchovy_ **

**_1 tsp. sriracha_ **

**_½ tbsp. Chinese hot mustard_ **

**_1 ½ tsp. Worcestershire sauce_ **

**_Juice of 1 lemon_ **

**_Juice of 1 lime_ **

**_1 tbsp. vodka_ **

**_Pinch of salt_ **

**_Dash of black pepper_ **

**_Dash of celery seeds_ **

**_Mix thoroughly and chill overnight._ **

**_Serve in an Imperial pint glass with 2 oz. vodka and 6 oz. of mix over ice, garnished with a celery stalk. Pepperoncini, olive, or pickles can also be added as garnish to taste._ **

* * *

After getting up and dressed and taking a bus back to her flat, Amélie let herself take a long hot shower, then considered what to do next. Gabriel was probably still asleep. Jesse would be entirely useless. Ana…was likely to compound the problem. That really left her with only one option, so she pulled out her phone.

 **+350 13847962 –** I think I am having a minor emergency.

 **+41 44938001 –** Brunch?

 **+350 13847962 –** Oui.

When she’d arrived at the usual café they preferred to meet at for occasional days off and breakfasts, Angela was sipping at a cup of coffee, while a bloody mary and a tall glass of water sat waiting at her place.

“I suspected you might need those,” the Swiss woman admitted as Amélie sat down, “Lena took you home last night?”

Amélie took a sip of the bloody mary, frowned, and added a dash of salt before taking another sip. Better. “She took me to her home, if you wanted to be exact.”

“And…?”

Amélie shrugged, shaking her head. “We fell asleep. We’d undressed a bit, apparently, but nothing else.”

“Oh.” Angela looked thoughtfully at her. “Where is the emergency, then? You didn’t do anything to regret…” Her gaze sharpened, an eyebrow rising. “Unless that’s the problem?”

Amélie used the arrival of their waiter as a distraction, ordering an omelet and toast before trying to answer. “I don’t know. We talked a bit…she understood that after Gérard, I’m not really…ready for anything else. She said she liked having a friendship with me.” With a sigh, the Frenchwoman put her head into her hands. “So why does it feel like I should have said something else?”

* * *

In the prep kitchen at Overwatch, Lena was doing almost the exact same thing. Lucozade and aspirin had calmed her head, and an egg sandwich put enough into her stomach to let her deal with going into work.

The routine of breaking down veg, baking off bread, and roasting bones for stock had become almost completely automatic for her, and since Jack was out, she felt a little more comfortable pouring out her mixed feelings as she worked.

“…and I _know_ I did the right thing, I know I did, but oh my god I basically told her ‘oh, we can just be friends’ and if that isn’t the most _stupid_ thing that could have come out of my gob…”

“Lena,” a cool voice interrupted her rant, “you need to calm down.” From across the kitchen, Satya was calmly measuring ingredients for one of her pastry creations, one eye on a timer she had running on her counter. “Try to focus. You’ll scorch your risotto if you don’t stir it.”

“Oops.” Lena blinked, then turned to the pot in question, giving it a healthy stir to make sure the rice would cook properly. “Sorry, luv.”

The Indian woman nodded, then began mixing before she poured the batter into molds she’d arranged on a sheet pan. “Would you have felt right if something had happened while you were both drunk? If she had not been properly consenting?”

“Of course not!”

Satya nodded. “Would you have felt right about forcing the issue once you both woke up?”

“God, no. I barely remembered my bloody _name_ this morning, neither of us were going there.”

After checking the oven temperature with an infrared gauge, Satya slid her pans in, then set a second timer. “And you were being truthful about appreciating your friendship with her?”

“Sure,” Lena agreed as she poured the risotto into a hotel pan, “I mean, she’s smart, she’s got an absolutely wicked sense of humor, and yeah, she’s not hard at all to look at, but she’s a lot more than that.”

The pastry chef made an approving noise as the first timer she’d set went off, then went to the ice cream machine and began carefully extruding the churned dessert into a container to freeze and set. “So you told her your honest feelings, she explained that she did feel an attraction towards you, but it was not the right time. Yet the door was left open for things to change in the future?”

Lena blinked. “Well…when you put it like that, yeah.”

Satya shut the freezer, then nodded. “So you did nothing wrong, Lena, and nothing stupid. If anything I find your restraint…admirable.”

Lena’s cheeks warmed as she found herself looking down at the floor.  “That’s…thanks, Satya. That helps.”

“Good. Now – I need to make a twelve-times batch of truffles. Would you please get me two quarts of heavy cream from the walk in?”

Lena grinned, her mood steadily improving. “Coming right up!”

* * *

Even though he and Gabriel were both off today, Jack surprised the staff by dropping in shortly before dinner service. Lena had finished prep and was mise-ing up her sauté station when he came through, wearing a basic blue t-shirt and jeans instead of his whites.

“Hey, Lena.”

“Oy! I thought you’d be at home enjoying the soon to be married snuggles.”

Jack actually _blushed_ at that, which was pretty fantastic, but shook his head. “No, I needed to go out and get groceries, and figured I’d stop in just to make sure everything was ready to go for tonight.”

“Very sweet of you,” Lena smiled back, “but we’re good!”

Jack nodded, then leaned in. “I also…just wanted to make sure _we_ were good? I felt a bit bad about yelling at you last night.”

Now it was Lena’s turn to blush as she coughed, looking away awkwardly. “Well, y’know, you didn’t say anything that wasn’t _true…_ and I did need to pull the pressure cooker.”

“I know. But still.”

Lena smiled, standing on her tiptoes to give her _sous_ a hug. “We’re cool. Seriously.”

“Good.” Jack returned the hug, then stepped back. “So….you and Amélie…?”

“Ahhh…not exactly.” Lena grimaced, looking away. “Friends right now. Just…friends.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Turning, he grabbed a tasting spoon to sample a bit of the risotto to cover his embarrassment. “Think that needs a little salt?”

Lena took a spoon of her own, tasted and considered. “Maybe, yeah. Let me add a dash.”

“Good,” Jack nodded, then put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re really coming along back here, Lena. I’m really proud of you, you know?”

“Aw. Thanks, Jack. That means a lot.”

“You’re welcome. And if things _do_ work out…with the other thing…well, I’m rooting for you, ok?”

Even though Lena had to deal with one hundred and fifty covers and Genji screwing up orders on four of her checks, she found a way to keep smiling all the way through closing.


	3. Moscow Mule

**Juice of ½ lime**

**2 oz. vodka**

**6 oz ginger beer**

**Squeeze lime juice into a copper mug or Collins glass, then drop in spent lime shell.**

**Add 2-3 ice cubes, pour in vodka, top up with ginger beer.**

**Serve with a stirring rod.**

* * *

If Amélie never saw another copper mug, it would be too soon.

She’d been asked to support a catering event with Blackwatch, so she’d dressed for the occasion. Black slacks, a long sleeved white button up blouse, a wide black necktie, and a black vest. A little bit of lipstick, a touch of blush, and her hair tied low at the base of her neck to complete the look.

Most of the time, open bar events like this were actually fairly easy. Set up the bar, open and serve beers, pour wine, fairly basic cocktails. Cut anyone off who seemed too far gone, and pack back up after a few hours of earning tips from a captive audience. This party, on the other hand, had been a corporate event where the CEO apparently loved Moscow Mules, so he’d pre-purchased over 200 of the damn things for his employees and guests as part of their package. She’d mixed every single one over the course of an hour as everyone went for the “signature drink” first, and had breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the first party guest had ordered a beer.

At least Gabriel had insisted on the client buying the mugs for the party guests as take home favors, so they wouldn’t be stuck with the damned things. Hopefully he’d gotten a good wholesale deal.

The rest of the night had been fairly tolerable, and the tips were good, at least.

Once they’d finished cleanup, she’d returned the unopened wine, beer, and unused liquor to Blackwatch, then fished her phone out of her pocket and took it off of silent. 5 unread messages? No surprise that the first was from Gabriel:

 **+1 213 404 9433 –** Post party “fuck these people and their mugs” at Ana’s.

Amélie snorted.

 **+350 13847962** **–** Let me change clothes and I’ll meet you there.

The other four messages…were from a number she didn’t have in her contacts.

 **+44 511037677** **–** Hi luv!

 **+44 511037677** **–** Sorry I sort of sneaked a peek at Angie’s phone to get your number, but you have no idea how boring it is here tonight.

 **+44 511037677** **–** 30 resos on the books tonight and only 18 covers past that so far. Jack’s looking to cut me loose in a few and I wasn’t sure if you had plans after the catering party, since I don’t have to turn right around and work on a school project?

  **+44 511037677 –** Anyway, cheers!

Amélie smiled as she saved a contact for Lena before replying.

 **+350 13847962** **–** Gabriel asked the crew from tonight to join him over at Ana’s after we get cleaned up. I was going to change and take a cab over. Would you like to join us?

When she checked her phone after changing into more casual clothes and putting her hair into her usual higher ponytail, there was a picture message of a pint of ice cream and Lena’s bare legs on what must have been her couch, her feet framing a television displaying the Netflix logo. Which was…rather adorable, really. She had saved the picture to her phone just before a new message popped in.

 **+44 511037677 –** Sorry, I ended up deciding to go for a night in! Jack sent me home an hour and a half ago. Raincheck?

 **+350 13847962** **–** _Certainement. Une autre fois, ma chérie._

 **+44 511037677 –** I have no fucking idea what you just said, but it sounded positive. ;) You’re off tomorrow, right?

Amélie laughed as she typed her reply.

 **+350 13847962** **–** _Oui_.

 **+44 511037677 –** OK, that I understand. J See you on Friday, luv!

* * *

After she arrived at Ana’s, Gabriel waved her over to where he and Hanzo were sitting, a wicked smile on the senior chef’s face.

“Where’s your right hand henchman?”

Gabriel laughed, putting a thumb over his shoulder. “Decided he wanted his beauty sleep. I think he got tired of being hit on by every cougar at the party.”

Amélie snorted as she settled into the booth. “What’s the phrase…? Listen to the tiniest violin?”

“Close enough,” Gabriel smirked, then gave a high sign to Ana. “First one’s on me tonight. Already got the order in for you.”

She had been about to thank him when Ana arrived, proudly bearing a copper cup in the middle of a serving tray as if she was presenting a trophy.

 _“Oh,_ _va te faire encule.”_

“I won’t make you keep the mug,” Gabriel promised between laughs, “but the look on your face…!”

“Gabriel, do you wish to _survive_ to your wedding day?”

“Oh, just try me.”

At least Ana mixed a fairly decent mule. Sipping the bubbly concoction, Amélie decided that she’d let Gabriel live – if he bought her a real martini next. After making her conditions for his survival known, Gabriel had graciously agreed, and they’d spent about half an hour complaining about the party clients before Gabriel began to get too hard on himself for imperceptible mistakes that nobody else was aware of in service. That was usually a good indication he needed to be sent to bed, so Hanzo quietly slipped off to text Jack to come collect his fiancé.

After Jack had picked Gabriel up and Hanzo had called a cab of his own, Amélie had ended up at the bar, finishing her martini and chatting idly with the veteran bartender.

“So,” Ana asked just a bit too casually after wiping down a few glasses, “I heard you went home with Lena after the party a few weeks ago?”

“And we went to sleep,” Amélie confirmed reluctantly, “nothing else.”

“Funny. I heard from Angela that you had a bit of a…crisis, afterwards.”

Amélie offered her best glare, but it slid off the Egyptian woman like water off an umbrella. “Angela should not be telling tales.”

“She talks in her sleep sometimes,” Ana admitted, making Amélie choke on the last sip of her drink with a sputter, “but she was genuinely worried about you in this case. And I heard from a little bird that Jack was a bit worried about Lena, too.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” Amélie declared firmly, “for either of us. I like Lena. We’re…becoming friends. Closer than we were when she was just zipping past the bar with orders.”

“Mm. I was a bit surprised when Jack told me she’d been taking culinary courses on her own time, but the line does seem to agree with her. Still a bit hyperactive, though. I have no idea where she finds all that energy.”

“I have a reliable source that has informed me she gets quite a lot from ice cream,” Amélie deadpanned, “and that Jack does not allow her to drink more than one cup of coffee a shift.”

“Reliable. How interesting.”

“Ana.”

“It’s just interesting, dear.”

“…you are five years older than I am. You do not get to imitate my mother.”

“Of course, dear.”

“ _Dégage.”_

Ana just smiled, her expression pious with mock-innocence.

Amélie tossed a few Euros from her tips on the bar top, then headed for the door, holding the fingers of one hand out and then snapping them shut against her thumb as hooting laughter followed her to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I'm describing the French equivalent of the finger correctly there, but regardless you get the idea.
> 
> Certainement. Une autre fois, ma chérie. - "Certainly. Another time, darling."
> 
> Oh, va te faire encule. - "Oh, go fuck yourself."
> 
> Dégage. - "Piss off."


	4. Aviation

**2 oz Gin**

**½ oz Maraschino liqueur**

**¼ oz Crème de Violette**

**1 oz Lemon Juice (reduce to ¾ oz if the lemon is particularly tart)**

**Combine ingredients and shake over crushed ice, then strain into a martini glass and garnish with a Maraschino cherry.**

* * *

Lena had always had a ridiculous amount of energy. Sometimes it was a help, like when she’d been balancing 40 hours serving at Overwatch with 16 hours of classes and culinary labs every week for two years.

Sometimes it was not. Today, she’d gotten a call from Jack halfway through her day off because one of the new line cooks had no-showed, so she’d come in and worked half the lunch shift and straight through dinner service to help fill the gap. Her nerves buzzing from the long shift and having to jump straight into the weeds, she’d tried to unwind in her flat, but found herself annoyed and unable to shut her mind down.

Fortunately she had a solution for that.

Changing into running togs and trainers, she drove over to the 24/7 gym she’d bought a membership to almost as soon as she’d gotten a full time job in Gibraltar. Waving her membership card over the scanner in the door, she made her way over to the empty treadmills, performed some warmup stretches, and worked herself up to a brisk pace.

She’d cleared just over two miles, muscles warm and loose, when one of the other late night regulars she’d gotten to know set herself up on the neighboring machine.

“ _Privet_ ,” the massive pink haired woman declared, “bad night at the restaurant?” Aleks was a bouncer at one of the clubs Lena occasionally visited downtown, and seemed to be one gigantic muscle as far as Lena had ever been able to tell. She generally went for women with more of a femme look, but she’d be lying if she didn’t occasionally gawp at the insanely cut woman when they were both at the gym working out, watching the Russian tirelessly crank out sets of reps that weighed more than she did.

“Eh.” She was just passing another half mile, the treadmill angling a bit to give her a little more variation, and Lena shifted her stride to compensate. “Was supposed to be my day off and one of the new hires shit the floor. You know how it goes.”

“Ah.” Aleks used the treadmill strictly for a warmup, rather than Lena’s more focused workout, but it wasn't long before she found a comfortable pace alongside the smaller woman. “Perhaps you should have called your bartender friend? Running is good, but,” her meticulously dyed pink eyebrows rose conspiratorially, “so many unused muscle groups, _da_?”

Lena growled partly from exertion as the incline grew, partly from annoyance. “Not _like_ that, dammit. Not that kind of friend.”

“You never had problems collecting…friends…at club.”

“Did up my makeup to make my eyes look even bigger…got free drinks all night because I’m…so damn cute and tiny.” The “hill” peaked, and Lena began to ease back, preparing for the downhill slope. “Pixie cut didn’t hurt either.”

“Was very cute,” the bouncer agreed, grunting as her own programmed course began to demand more effort, “but your hair works for you. Very bouncy. Spikes are nice.”

“You hittin’ on me, luv?”

“Hah! Not while _lapotchka_ is waiting for me when I finish workout.”

Lena smiled. “Aww. You and Mei still going then?”

“Is going well, yes.” Aleksandra’s smile was perfectly uncomplicated. “She flew back in yesterday. Had to visit parents in Harbin.” Lena had no idea how the curvy little Chinese woman (some kind of engineer, if she remembered right) had gotten involved with Aleks, but opposites did attract.

Like, say, a tall and aloof drink of Bordeaux that had a dancer’s ass and legs that seemed like they could wrap all the way around her twice over?

“That’s nice,” Lena deflected, trying not to dwell on that thought, “say hullo, will you?”

“Of course, _zaichik_. But still – you tell me about this woman. I see how you look when you think about her. So why not call? Turn on movie. Make dinner. Have comfy blanket to cuddle. Good to share warmth.”

Lena tried to put on more speed, as if she could escape the question by lapping the larger woman, and shook her head. “She offered to have me out for a drink with the lads last month and I’d already gotten ready for bed. Wasn’t the time. Besides – she’s…she’s not the hit and quit _type_. That’s not at all what I want.”

“As you say. But you do not get anything if you do not ask.” Aleks finished her warmup, then stepped off the treadmill, grabbing a towel to wipe down the equipment before heading to the weight racks. “Keep in mind, Lena. _Udachi._ ”

Lena sighed, her voice a bit weak. “Cheers, luv.” Forcing herself to pull back to a more sustainable pace, she decided to clear another mile before punching the button to start a cooldown course.

Lena’s mind still wouldn’t stop turning over the last thing Aleks had told her, but at least she was going to be wrung out enough to pass out once she got back to her flat.

* * *

The following night, that she had actually been scheduled for at the start of the week, was another slow starter. The bellend who had no-showed the previous day had claimed he’d gotten his days off mixed up, but after failing to manage even half his prep list by the end of his shift, Jack had quietly taken him aside and let him know they’d be mailing him a paycheck for the work he’d done next week, and that he could look for another opportunity somewhere else. (Word on the street was that Talon was always hiring. What that said about _their_ kitchen, well…)

Jack had moved her over to work grill tonight, taking advantage of the slow night to give her some cross-training.

“You learn grill, and you learn cold kitchen, and I’ll work with Gabe to arrange a test course for you when you’re ready,” he had explained to her when he’d moved her off sauté, “You pass that? We’ll get you promoted to roundsman.”

Lena did like having clear goals – and going from a server to the  _tournant_  in under three years was an appealing challenge. So when tickets came across her station, she worked to deliver a good product, and listened to Jack’s patient critiques when she ran into roadbumps. (Rare steak – easy. Blue steak – actually quite tricky.)

They were about three quarters of the way into service when Jack changed the subject. “So…gotten a chance to take Amélie up on that raincheck?”

“Not…exactly, no.” Lena gave her _sous_ a sour look. “ _Someone_ called me in on my day off yesterday, as you may recall.”

“Sorry, but that’s the job.” Jack gave a sympathetic smile. “If it helps, Gabe just had to reschedule our first wedding planning session because a corporate party gig called to change their event date.”

“Oof. That’s too bad.”

“It’ll be OK. We’ll figure it out – and the nice thing about going to a party planner who books with Blackwatch is that she knows how this goes.”

“Gonna have Satya do your wedding cake?”

“She’d poison our next batch of ice cream if I didn’t.”

“Not true,” the Indian woman’s calm voice drifted over from her station, where she was making a set of ice cream canelles for a dessert plate, “but I would consider slipping a laxative into your next staff meal.”

Lena laughed at Jack’s expression, the chef not entirely sure that his _patissier_ was joking. “Thinking about flavors for it yet?”

The _sous_ shrugged after making sure nothing new was coming across on the ticket printer. “Probably going to do different flavors on different tiers – or maybe do two ‘Groom’s cakes’ instead of one big wedding cake. Gabe’s got a big family and he has to invite pretty much all of them or he’ll never be invited back to Christmas again – even if they’re mostly back in the States. My sister’s coming but my parents…aren’t interested. So I’m planning to invite a lot of folks from here, and some of my old friends and mentors from CIA. Depends how many RSVP and how big a cake we’ll need.”

“And how much chocolate Gabe wants to cram into it?”

Jack’s bemused sigh said all she needed to know.

“Am I getting an invite?”

“Absolutely!”

“Hm. Well…we’ll see. Maybe I can ask her to go then.”

“Lena.” Jack lowered his glasses to stare over the bridge of his nose. “You are not waiting a year – or more – to ask her on a first date to _my wedding_. That is _fucked , _and it puts too much pressure on both of you.”

“Yeah,” a fourth voice suddenly piped in from the window, “such a terrible idea. She’d feel like you’re jumping right past lesbian bed death and straight to buying a station wagon.”

Lena whirled, grabbing her knife off her board. “Oy! Radish tops who have yet to keep a girl or boyfriend longer than two months do not get to talk.”

Genji smirked. “Well, maybe I’ll solve the problem for you.”

Lena rolled her eyes. “An’ how exactly do you suggest to do that?”

“Easy,” the server smiled as he left the window with the dessert plate Satya had just put up, “I’ll ask her out first. _Ja ne!_ ”

Lena suddenly found herself seeing red. “Genji _Shimada_ , you green haired bastard! I will cut your heart out and **_serve it up with chips_**!”

Only the fact that Lena was swinging a nine inch Damascus steel blade in the direction of the departing server’s back kept Jack from bursting out laughing. “Only one way to cut him off, you know.”

“Get his brother to nick his all his pants again?”

Jack blinked. “Ah, no, I was going to suggest that maybe, _perhaps_ , you should go _talk to Amélie_ before he does.”

Lena sighed, visibly deflating as she put her knife back down. “Oh, _fuck_.”

Jack smiled kindly. “I promise it’s not that bad.”

“How long did you and Gabe work around each other without ‘talking’, _Sous_ dad?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, that was a little different. But if you ask nice, I might have some advice for you.”

Lena looked over, still skeptical, but kept her voice polite, if a bit sarcastic. “OK, Jack. Please. What advice would you have?”

“Amélie’s cab was caught in traffic before she got in for the bar tonight. She missed staff meal.”

Lena blinked. “What? Oh… _ohhhh._ ” Saluting, she nodded as the lightbulb went on. “Thanks.” Before she could say anything more, the ticket printer began to spit out a check.

“OK,” Jack snapped, immediately back to business, “I need two _Rosti_ , one harvest salad, bowl of chorizo and leek soup, and fire a  _tortilla espanola_ app!”

* * *

After close and wiping down her station, Lena went downstairs to the women’s locker room. Popping open her locker, she pulled off her coat and the sweat drenched undershirt she’d been wearing, exchanging them for a fresh sports bra and T-shirt. The sweaty clothes and the head wrap she used to keep her hair out of the way in the kitchen went into a plastic bag so she could throw them into the washing later, and her coat flew across the room to land in the bin for the restaurant’s laundry service just as Amélie came through the door.

“Oh, shit! Sorry! Didn’t hit you did I?”

“Its fine,” the Frenchwoman smiled just a bit as she opened her locker to pull out her purse, “I’ve survived worse.”

Lena suddenly felt like a complete knob. “Shit, shit, shit, sorry.”

“Lena,” Amélie put a hand on her shoulder, and she felt her cheeks warm, “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to apologize, _chérie._ ”

“OK,” Lena took a deep breath, then smiled back up at the taller woman, “you feeling hungry? I’m a bit peckish.”

Amélie closed her locker, then spun the combination lock. “I could eat.”

Lena smiled. “Chip shop near my gym is open ‘til 1am tonight.”

“Mmm.” Amélie’s lips pursed and Lena would swear she felt her mouth water a bit. “Not what I usually care for…but I do believe I owed you a rain check. Do you mind driving?”

Lena would swear her heart skipped at least two beats. “Uh…no, no, not at all! Car’s parked out back.”

“ _Allons-y.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lapotchka - Russian term for girlfriend / 'little one'  
> Zaichik - bunny rabbit  
> Udachi - Shorthand for 'Goodbye and good luck.'
> 
> Roundsman / tournant - Kitchen member capable of filling in at any station. Incredibly precious and valuable, protect at all costs. Often a stepping stone to an eventual sous position. Jesse held the position at Overwatch before being promoted to Gabriel's sous at Blackwatch.  
> Patissier - Pastry chef.  
> CIA - Culinary Institute of America


	5. Manhattan

**2 oz. Rye whiskey**

**1 oz. Vermouth (Italian vermouth is ideal.)**

**2 dashes of Angostura bitters**

**Stir the rye, vermouth, and bitters with cracked ice. (Anyone who insists on shaking this cocktail probably puts ketchup on their hot dog.)**

**Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with a maraschino cherry.**

* * *

The chip shop Lena drove them to was…representative, Amélie supposed. A high counter with a glass front showed off a few off the offerings under heat lamps, the staff changing racks out periodically if the food had sat for too long under their gaze. Menu boards at the back had prices, and a few pictures of their specials and plates lined the walls alongside framed posters, license plates, and other bits of Brittania kitsch.

There was a Union Jack hung above the register, because of course there was.

After considering the menu for a few moments, Amélie decided a basic order of chips, curry dipping sauce, and a small piece of battered cod were safe enough, along with a bottle of water to wash down the salty meal. Lena, on the other hand, ordered something called a ‘king rib’, a pair of small sausage links, and a large order of chips, plus a soda that appeared almost as wide around as her head.

“Where,” she couldn’t help but wonder aloud as they sat down at one of the open tables that ringed the shop, “do you put all of that, _chérie_?”

Lena blushed right along the freckles that crossed the bridge of her nose. It made her look even younger, and for a moment Amélie had a hard time believing the shorter woman was just five years her junior.

“Always have been a bit of a bottomless pit. One of my first foster parents used to say I had to eat like a horse because I was always running around just like one, too.”

Amélie smiled at first, but something Lena had said caught her attention after a moment. “Foster parents?”

“Oh, right. Shit.” Lena sighed, taking a sip of her drink to try covering a bit of embarrassment. “I guess not many people around here know that part, do they?”

The Frenchwoman shook her head. “I can’t recall you ever mentioning your family. But I…assumed you might have reasons for that.” Her father hadn’t spoken to her since her divorce, after all, and her mother had slowly grown ever more distant from her since the afternoon she’d admitted that she found the girls in her ballet classes as interesting as the boys.

Lena shook her head with a snort. “Mainly coz I don’t have one, not really.” Picking up one of her chips, she pointed it at her chest. “My last name is a bit of a giveaway.”

“Oxton?”

“Mmhmm.” Lena bit fiercely through the fried potato, then swallowed before going on. “I was found there, y’see – a part of London they call ‘Hoxton’. I turned up, not even a week old, at the baby box out front of St. Leonard’s Hospital. Nurses took me in, but they never found a mum or dad. Named me out of a baby book, I guess, and someone was nice enough to drop the ‘H’ so I wouldn’t be so obviously an orphan.”

She looked away, grimacing. “Not that it helped much.”

Amélie’s eyes dropped to her plate as she suddenly became engrossed in her (half decent) wedge of battered whitefish. “ _Desloeé._ ”

Lena mustered a smile, placing a slim hand on her shoulder. “No, it’s OK – I brought it up, didn’t I? If I didn’t want to end up talking about it, I shouldn’t have said.” After a reassuring squeeze when Amélie looked up to meet her eyes, she blew a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. “Anyhow – wasn’t all bad. Got me here, after all,” she waved a chip around, gesturing at the shop before pointing it at Amélie with a wink, “and here’s pretty nice.”

“Besides,” she admitted as she dipped the chip into a small paper cup of vinegar, “if I hadn’t been…I’d never have met Winston, and he’s the best bloke I’ve got.”

Amélie raised an eyebrow, the awkwardness fading in favor of curiosity. “I don’t think you’ve mentioned him to me before.”

“Brilliant, cuddly fella,” Lena smiled, her eyes becoming a bit distant, “met him when we were both doing our Academy Schools. He was in the System too, but a little luckier than I was – got adopted by a physics lecturer and Harold’s the sweetest you could ask for. Encouraged him to go for his maths after he passed his A-levels, and now Winston works as a boffin for some company in Bracknell. We talk on the phone, shoot emails back and forth, but he gets a bit absentminded.”

“I should love to meet him some time,” Amélie surprised herself with how quickly she made that decision, “he seems like a wonderful friend.”

“I try to get him down here now and then,” Lena admitted between bites of her King Rib, “but like I said – totally the absentminded professor. One time I had him on the phone and caught his lab assistant yelling at him for sleeping under his desk and living off peanut butter and bananas for a week!”

They shared a laugh about that, and it was really, genuinely pleasant. Honestly, it was nice to have a _conversation_ that didn’t always detour into arguments about platings or dissecting various customer’s or co-worker’s foibles. Even if Amélie was just as guilty at initiating those as Hanzo or Gabriel.

She didn’t feel the awkward pressure of that morning when they’d woken up in bed together (though it _did_ help they were fully dressed this time), and…she _liked_ Lena. The positive attitude and seemingly endless energy, even after all she’d apparently been through. The way her eyes danced as she talked. She never stopped _moving_ , even sitting down, her fingers dancing or feet tapping lightly, and she was half tempted to kiss the Brit just to see if it would make her _stand still_ …

_ Viens m’enculer. _

Lena, entirely unaware of Amélie’s sudden moment of painful self-awareness, finished her Rib and leaned forward with her elbows on the table, head atop her entwined hands. “So that’s me, I guess. How about you?”

Amélie blinked, just catching the last of what Lena had said. “Ah?”

Lena smiled. “I said, what about you, luv? How’d you end up here of all places?”

“Oh.” Amélie blinked herself back to reality, then thought about how to explain it. “When I was a girl, I wanted to be a dancer – a ballerina.”

“Oo. I thought you had the look,” Lena admitted, “but I never knew you’d actually done it.”

“I tried.” Amélie frowned as she thought back to the long hours of work she’d wasted. “I trained for many years – I had some talent – but I was told I wasn’t a strong enough performer to be a soloist, and it’s difficult to make headway if you are constantly placed in the chorus. I started tending bar to help pay my bills, and I quickly found that I made quite a lot more money that way.” She shrugged, picking up a few of her increasingly soggy chips. “I suppose I could have tried to teach, but…it was less painful to make a clean break.”

“Sorry,” Lena reached out, eyes damp with sympathy, “now I’m the one digging up old hurts.” After a moment, she leaned in, her voice shy. “Do you ever dance just for you, these days?”

“I keep a membership at a studio,” Amélie admitted, “but I am not a regular.”

“I’d love to see it. Maybe I don’t know as much as some poof in a director’s chair, but I think you’d be beautiful to watch.”

“Perhaps.” Her smile turned a bit wistful as Amélie admitted one of her own secrets. “I wanted to be a soloist so badly it hurt. There was a part I always wanted – I’d practice on my own, but I never seemed to have an opportunity…”

“Yeah?” Lena’s eyes widened slightly with rapt attention, even her breathing slightly hushed. “Which one was that?”

“Odile – the black swan. It’s silly – she’s one of the toughest parts, because you not only have to dance your own performance, but be able to perfectly match the soloist dancing Odette. But I liked the story, and the challenge appealed to me. That’s why I have my tattoo.”

Lena’s eyebrows raised. “I’ve never seen it. What is it? Where is it?”

Now it was Amélie’s turn to blush. “It’s on my back,” she admitted, “a black swan resting on a wave. I got it…before I realized it would never happen for me. I still love the design, but I rarely show it off anymore.”

“I was going to say,” Lena nodded, “I almost always see you at work, and the one night…” Lena coughed, looking away. “Well, you never took your shirt all the way off, so.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t see it while I was getting dressed that morning.”

“Would you believe I closed my eyes?” Lena’s cheeks were so red they looked like polished apples. “Didn’t want to be a complete tosser.”

“I never suspected you were such a gentleman _, chérie_.”

They laughed together again, and traded a few more stories as they finished their food. Amélie explained how she’d met Angela while working at a club in Lyon, and how the Swiss woman had asked if she would be interested in joining the staff at a restaurant she was helping to establish, eventually leading her to Overwatch.

Lena admitted she’d left the UK after getting her GCSE. A foster parent had once told her that they believed her parents might have left her in the hospital and gone to Spain to look for work, so she’d decided to backpack and hostel her way around, doing odd jobs, hoping to find some clue to her background.

In retrospect, not knowing anything about her parents, and not much more about herself than her blood type and date of birth made that a fantastically fucking stupid idea. She’d survived, though, had some interesting adventures, and learned to be a pretty good server along the way.

“So why did you decide to take culinary courses, then?”

“Always liked food,” Lena explained, “and there was a night where Jack and Gabe were both sick a few years ago, and I got asked to just help do really basic stuff. Cut up some carrots into matchsticks, stuff like that, just to put a body back there. I loved it. It _clicked_ for me the way nothing ever did in school, and…well, I told you I left after getting my GCSE. Never even thought of A-Levels or a bachelor’s degree.”

Lena finished her last handful of chips, crumpling the wastepaper into a ball. “The idea of going to culinary, even if it was going to be a bitch to do my courses along with the serving job, well. I guess that was the challenge that appealed to me.”

“It’s certainly impressive. You shocked us all when you performed that _stage_ for Jack.”

“Aw. Thank you. Nobody told me that.” Collecting their trash, both women put things in the bin before leaving the shop, Lena offering a cheerful wave to the man still working the counter. “It was a big deal to have finished something, y’know? Meant a lot just to be handed that diploma.”

* * *

Lena drove Amélie back to her apartment building in a companionable silence aside from the music playing quietly on her car stereo.  Her building’s tiny lot was full, so Lena parked on the next street over, then walked with her until they’d reached the front door.

“Well,” Lena smiled, “thank you for tonight. This…it was really nice.”

“It was,” Amélie suddenly felt a bit awkward, not sure what to do next, “We…we should do this again, sometime.”

Lena almost stammered out “Sure!” so quickly that it was barely recognizable. “I mean…I would love to. But it’s…I know it’s not…”

Amélie did her best to rescue them both from their fumbling. “We could get coffee, and talk some more. Maybe go shopping?”

“Yeah,” Lena nodded with relief, “that sounds perfect. I’m off…Sunday afternoon? I just have to close up from Brunch service.”

“I’m free.” Amélie decided a hug was safe enough, giving the shorter woman a quick but heartfelt squeeze. “I’m looking forward to it. Get home safe, Lena.”

“Cheers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GCSE - "General Certificate - Secondary Education" - equivalent to an American GED.
> 
> A-level - Final years of public schooling in the UK, usually for people planning to go on for a Bachelor's or advanced degree.
> 
> Viens m’enculer. - "Oh, fuck me." (Alternatively: "I'm fucked." Either covers it pretty well!)
> 
>  _Stage_ \- a prospective chef (or cook) being asked to perform knife cuts, demonstrate skills, and usually create a dish for the hiring chef out of a set of ingredients provided to them.
> 
> Oh - in case you're wondering about it: Amélie's parents are Catholic. Very. Catholic. So yeah. :(
> 
> Five points to the house of whomever figures out where the tattoo came from.


	6. Whiskey Sour

**2 oz. bourbon**

**2/3 oz. lemon juice**

**1 tsp. superfine sugar**

**Shake bourbon, lemon juice, and sugar with ice, then strain into a Sour or Collins glass. A single cherry or slice of lemon is traditional for garnish.**

**(Anyone who insists on both deserves whatever else happens to them.)**

* * *

Lena was surprised to have her phone ring just as she’d tried to fish out the keys to her flat from her pocket after a Saturday closing shift.

** BIG GUY **

“Winston! It’s been ages since you called!”

- _Hello, Lena! I know, sorry, Athena’s been trying to get me out of the lab. This project is nearly ready to deliver, though, and I’ve had a lot to do._

Lena grinned as she managed to navigate the operation of making it through the door and chucking her knife roll and laundry bag onto her small kitchen table. “I’m sure. I mean, you’re they’re best at…whatever that thing is you do which I can’t pronounce.”

Winston’s warm chuckle made Lena feel like her oldest friend had wrapped around her in a hug as she flopped down onto her couch.

- _Optical lensing dynamics, Lena. Just think of it this way: I make lasers. Except not like in_ Star Wars _._

Lena giggled – it was far from the first time they’d had that particular discussion. “So you said Athena was trying to boot you out of the lab. Did she actually succeed?”

_-Um. Well…sort of._

Even though he couldn’t see her, Lena raised her eyebrow, lip quirking into a grin. “Ohhh? C’mon, big guy. Out with it!”

- _Ahh…well…she asked me to take her out to dinner._

“ _Finally!_ ” Lena jumped back up off of the couch, pumping her free arm into the air. “GOOOOOOAL **GUNNERS!** ” She’d only been trying to get Winston to chat up the obviously interested woman for ages, hadn’t she? Good on Athena for taking the initiative.

Winston’s long suffering sigh was so perfectly captured over the phone that she could imagine him rolling his eyes and trying to hide behind whatever book he’d been reading when he called.

- _Yes, Lena. You were right, thank you._

“So what’s the problem?”

- _Problem?_

Lena settled back down, her voice filling with as close as she could get to sisterly care. “Winston. You barely were able to tell me she’d asked you out, and you’re calling me at…what, three thirty in the morning, there?”

_-Mm. OK, yes, you’ve got me there. I’m…I just don’t know what to do! You know me, Lena. I’m not the dating TYPE. I can barely buy my own groceries! I can’t cook, and I have no idea what she likes…_

“Oh, luv. Don’t you dare do that to yourself! You’re one of the smartest blokes I’ve ever met, you know? Even Harold used to tell you that, I know he did. We can figure this out, yeah?”

- _Thanks, Lena._

“Of course! So. First question – you still going veg?”

- _Yes, I still keep vegetarian, but I’ve started eating eggs again. I’ve been…advised…to stop eating so much peanut butter for quick protein in the morning._

“Right then. So we obviously want to go somewhere you can eat. Now, do you know what kind of food Athena likes?”

_-Ah…well, she’s Greek. Or her family’s Greek, at least. I think she was born here._

“No, no, no. _You_ do not take _her_ out for Greek, OK? You let her make that call. That’d be like me asking Amélie if she wanted to hit a French restaurant I picked out of the phonebook.”

_-How is that going, anyway? With the dinners you keep having, going shopping, walking her home, and not dating._

Lena scowled. “Not the discussion we’re having right now, Winston. But she’s fine. Thanks.”

- _Uh-huh._

“Seriously. No. Back to business – is _she_ a veggie?”

- _Hmm…I think I’ve seen her bring in takeaway from a few different places, but nothing exclusively vegetarian that I can recall. I’m pretty sure she’s eaten chicken tikka at lunch before. It smelled like chicken tikka, anyway._

“OK, good! So you know she’ll probably be more comfortable going to a place that can do meat or veg, and it sounds like she likes Indian.”

_-Yes…yes, the evidence is pointing that way. So you think if I took her out to a nice Indian place, she’d enjoy that?_

“Sure sounds like a good plan to me, Professor Winston. Is Shahi still open?”

_-Hasn’t gone anywhere, no._

“Well, sounds like that’s a plan, then.”

- _I guess you’re right! Thanks, Lena. You’re a lifesaver._

“Anytime! Now, when do I get to actually see you two lovebirds down here for a visit? Aren’t you about due for a holiday?”

* * *

When Gabriel had asked Amélie about taking part in his wedding, she had made it abundantly clear that she would be willing to be the bartender at the reception, or a member of his wedding party, but not both.

Which is why they were sitting in a tailor’s shop, Gabriel being measured for his tuxedo, while she would be measured for a black tuxedo jacket, a silver and red brocade vest to match the other members of Gabriel’s portion of the wedding party (Jesse as his Best Man, of course, and one of Gabriel’s cousins from Miami that she wouldn’t meet until the event), and a white tuxedo shirt with black and silver cufflinks and studs.

After some discussion, she’d decided to go with a full skirt and boots rather than the pants and matching shoes the others would wear. She would take care of her own makeup, then go with Angela and Jack’s sister Opal (who would serve as his Maid of Honor) to have her hair done the morning of the wedding, while the men visited a barbershop to have their haircuts and straight razor shaves done at the same time.

“So,” she asked as she sipped a bottle of San Pellegrino while Gabriel had his inseam checked, “what did you and Jack decide about the cake?”

“I really wanted the ancho and chocolate layer that Satya gave us at the tasting for our base, but I lost the coin flip. So we’ll have a bottom layer of pistachio cake with chai filling and white buttercream, second layer will be _tres leches_ with strawberry filling, top layer will be almond cake with blood orange filling and salted caramel buttercream, and she’ll wrap the whole thing in fondant before decorating.”

“How terrible,” Amélie offered with mock sympathy, “that you will only have two layers of your favorite flavors and not three, _pauvre garcon._ ”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. I may slip Satya an extra forty Euros to get a bunch of cupcakes made – maybe some nice dark ganache on top to take it all the way over the top.”

“I would not hate eating one,” Amélie confessed with a small smile, “but I do think that blood orange layer sounds _superbe._ ”

“Uh-huh.” Once the tailor finished with his measurements, Gabriel stepped down off the raised platform and pulled a drink of his own from the cooler on the floor. “Since we’re playing 20 questions,” he asked as Amélie stepped up to get her own measurements, “you asked Lena to go with you yet?”

“She already has an invitation,” Amélie evaded as the tailor began to wrap his measuring tape around her bust, “but I was planning on asking her if she’d drive me over to the hair appointment. I thought we could get some coffee for everyone along the way, and Angela offered to drive us to Cathedral of Saint Mary once we’re finished at the hairdresser.”

“Mm.” Gabriel went quiet as he finished his drink, relaxing as Amélie turned and posed as the tailor continued taking her measurements. “Jesse said he’ll come over tomorrow – he had something planned with Hanzo before I asked him to come along today.”

“How will your cousin get his tuxedo to match ours?”

“Oh, easy. Esteban – _tía_ Rosa’s husband – used to be a tailor. He’ll be getting the measurements and emailing them to me. I drop them off here, we have everything cut, and when Lance flies in a few days early, I’m going to bring him over so we can do a final fit and finish.”

“Ah.”

Once the tailor had finished with both of them, they’d gone for a late lunch. Gabriel had the rest of the afternoon free, but Amélie would be working that evening, so she’d need to catch the metro or a cab back to her apartment to change afterwards. In deference to Gabriel trying to drop seven or eight (or nine or ten) pounds before the ceremony, they’d decided to try a shop specializing in ‘build your own’ salads.

Amélie asked about some of the other wedding details she hadn’t been informed of yet, but mostly tried to avoid the subject the more she realized that Gabriel was using several of his answers and follow up questions to probe the state of her not-quite-a-relationship with Lena.

Finally, as Gabriel paid their checks (“Hey, you came along and gave me some good company during all that crap”), he leaned back in his chair.

“You know it mean a lot to me that you’re doing this, right? Not just the clothes – the wedding, everything.”

“Of course,” Amélie smiled, “but you knew I would say yes, didn’t you? You were there for me through _my_ everything, Gabriel. Leaving Gérard, and all of the mess that came after. You have always been one of my best friends since I came to Gibraltar – where else would I be?” Trying to keep from getting too sappy, she let her smile turn to a smirk. “Besides, you bought me lunch.”

Gabriel laughed, but got serious again after a moment. “I know, I know. You’ve been _mi amiga_ too, Ami. That’s why I wanted you up there with us. But it’s also why I need to ask you an honest question, and I need you to be honest with _yourself_ about the answer, OK?”

She knew what was coming – the man knew her far too well – but it still hit her like a punch in the gut when Gabriel looked her in the eyes.

“Are you happy like this? With the two of you dancing around what you both seem to want? Or do you feel like you’d be happier if things went there?”

Amélie looked away, because she couldn’t answer him directly. “You know you’re being a terrible hypocrite, _non?_ ”

Gabriel put his hand gently over hers, the rough calluses and old scars from untold years of knife and kitchen work a contrast to her carefully maintained skin. “I’m being someone who is watching a friend make the same mistake he did. You deserve better than that.”

Her throat tightened, and Amélie had to take a deep breath and slowly exhale before she could say anything else. “ _Merci, mon ami_. I promise, I’ll think about what you said.”

* * *

After changing into black capris, a crisp white buttoned up top, and narrow black tie before hopping the metro back into downtown, Amélie managed to at least appear cool and collected as she worked the bar at Overwatch that evening, regardless of her actual mental state. The Friday night crowd ended up being quite good, and she clocked out with a respectably thick envelope of euros to put into her purse at the end of the night.

When she walked down to the locker room she’d found Lena sitting on the bench and leaning back against her locker, still dressed in her whites even though she’d gone downstairs fifteen minutes before Amélie had finished tipping out.

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Huh?” Lena looked up, then smiled as their eyes met. “Oh, hey! No, I’m fine, just a long week. I was doing a lot of extra Brunch prep the last couple days since I’m out on a Saturday and Sunday both for once, and I feel beat.”

“How much overtime did you work?”

“Ahh…twelve extra hours this week? Got the OK from Jack and Chef, though.”

“And did you eat anything today?”

“ _Oh._ Knew I was forgetting something. Went up for staff meal but most of the servers went for seconds while I was finishing that hotel pan of potatoes. I was going to make myself a snack, but then Jack needed me to jump over to sauté, and…oops.”

Amélie sighed as she opened her locker. “ _Tu es impossible._ Get out of your coat, _chérie_ , and let’s get you some food.”

Lena offered a tired giggle as she stood, pulling off her coat and tossing it into the laundry bin, then sniffed at her armpit. “Not too terrible, since I wasn’t roasting at grill all night. I think I can get by with this.”

She’d been wearing a black T-shirt beneath the coat with a crown logo above bold white lettering (KEEP CALM AND **YES CHEF** ), and pulled off the orange kerchief she’d had over her head and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans before running her hands through her hair to bring it back into something like her usual style. “Got your purse?”

“ _Oui._ You have your car keys?”

Lena pulled her keychain out, jingling the keys in her hand with a smile. “You know, one of these days we might even teach you to drive, luv.”

“Thank you, no.” She’d never really felt comfortable behind the wheel. Far better to let someone else go to the trouble, and she had no problem buying Gabriel, Lena, or whomever else was giving her a ride a tank of gas in exchange. “Shall we?”

After they left Overwatch, Amélie had insisted they walk to one of the late night kebab carts sitting near the restaurant parking lot rather than let Lena try to drive while exhausted and on an empty stomach. Watching her demolish an extra-large gyro and half an order of falafel in less than five minutes was an impressive exercise, while Amélie sated a mild rumble of her own hunger with the rest of the chickpea fritters before they made their way back to the car.

They’d talked a bit about how their respective days had gone (Lena observing that most of hers had been spent ‘arse deep in the weeds’), and Amélie giving her hints about her planned outfit for the wedding, though she left a few details vague so she would be able to surprise Lena with the complete package.

Which made her think about the conversation at lunch that she had very carefully _not_ mentioned when telling Lena about her afternoon.

 _Are you happy like this?_ Yes, she was, but Gabriel had been right that some part of her, over the past few months, had realized she might be happier if things were different.

 _You deserve better than that._ Maybe she did, finally. The wounds Gérard had left on her heart had slowly closed, the scars and cracks gently mended by this brilliant little girl who didn’t even seem to know she’d been doing it. The idea of going forward again – of _moving on_ _with her life_ – suddenly didn’t feel so impossible.

_Don’t make the same mistake I did._

* * *

 

Amélie grew quiet on the drive over to her apartment building, but that was hardly anything new. Lena hummed softly along to the radio as she navigated the darkened streets – she almost knew this route better than she knew the drive back to her own flat by now.

For once, an unmetered parking space was open near the building, so Lena locked the car once they’d both gotten out and followed Amélie to her door, a variation on the routine they’d slowly established – soon to end with a hug that wasn’t quite a kiss goodnight, a murmured wish for a safe drive home that wasn’t quite saying something else.

But tonight, Amélie wasn’t putting the key in to open the door. She was standing, staring at the black metal and darkened glass as if it was the last place in the world she wanted to go.

“Everything OK, luv?” Lena’s brows knit with concern, not quite sure what was happening.

Amélie turned, her eyes searching for something that Lena wasn’t sure she understood, but apparently she found an answer, her throat working for a moment before she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Lena…would you like to come upstairs?”

She couldn’t quite process that for a moment, her brain coming to a crashing halt. There was a sudden burning in her chest, and Lena realized she had been holding her breath since hearing that question. She took a moment to make herself breathe, then swallowed hard to clear the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat before she tried to answer. “Amélie…are you asking me what I think you’re asking?”

Suddenly looking nervous and (rather adorably) awkward, Amélie nodded, biting her lower lip slightly as she apparently didn’t trust herself to speak again.

With the taller woman in pumps and Lena still wearing her non-skid work shoes, she had to practically to launch herself on tiptoe to properly kiss her.

It was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some debate, I'm gonna end this one here. 
> 
> But it occurs to me I'm rather heavily teasing that wedding, aren't I?


End file.
